


No Good At Lip Service

by MoMoMomma



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Dark Will, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Murder Fantasies, Murder Kink, Phone Sex, Will Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want it. Want me to wrap hands around your throat as I fuck you open, rip away every bit of falsehood. Bring the god to his knees on the altar of his own mind.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Good At Lip Service

**Author's Note:**

> The content in this fic CAN be triggering to some individuals! If you are concerned with the Graphic Depictions of Violence tag, please skip to the end authors note for more clarification and, as always, be safe while reading!
> 
> Obviously, in between posting fics on here, I have found a new obsession! Give me some time to figure out the characters and I promise I'll offer up something more meaningful than a few thousand words of smut. In the meantime, though, lovely readers, please enjoy!
> 
> Major thanks to Richelle and Mal for looking this over for me, any remaining mistakes are my own and not to be blamed on these lovely creatures.

It’s not the first thing he thinks of doing after he’s released and can sink into the comfort of his own bed, but it’s certainly not the last thing either. There wasn’t much room for privacy in prison, even if that prison masqueraded as a “hospital”. But it’s not as though he was really focused on that when every waking hour was dedicated to figuring a way to get himself out and Hannibal in.

Plus, with Chilton’s persistent monitoring, Will wasn’t feeling very aroused even at the best of times.

Now though, with his pack settled back in their beds, exhausted from running and playing in the euphoria of a long awaited reunion, and his own body sinking into a mattress whose softness he never appreciated until this moment, Will can’t fight it. There’s a heaviness to his limbs that isn’t because of drugs or exhaustion, a hazy sort of hedonistic pleasure at the slide of soft sheets against his skin. He shivers at the scrape of his callouses against his chest when he slides a hand over his body lazily, having opted out of clothes for bed since privacy could now be guaranteed.

A part of him knows he intended for this to happen the second he pulled his shirt over his head, but he ignores it in lieu of spreading his legs, stretching the muscles out with a groan.

Riding the exhilaration of being released, Will doesn’t pay any mind to the darkness that tries to creep in the second his hand fists the flaccid length of his cock. He’s determined, almost viciously so, to enjoy this. He won’t allow the memories of corpses or the screams of the dying to kill what he so desperately needs.

Planting his feet on the bed, knees tipping wide, spreading in a way even he knows is slutty, Will huffs out a breath as he starts a coaxing pump with his wrist. He lets his eyes drift closed, blocking out the moonlight pouring in from the curtains, arching into the movement as his body starts to respond. His other hand drifts up, thumb catching on a nipple, the shock of touch further stiffening the flesh in his fist.

Will lets the images come when they do, imagining a faceless warmth wrapping around him, the strong touch of hands at his hips. His fantasies are never people he knows, his mind recoiling even in the privacy of imagination, and Will is thankful for the blank slate as he imagines his hair being gripped and pulled. His head kicks back on the pillow like it’s reality, mouth open, lips slicking after a quick pass of his tongue.

He’s hard, fully stiffened and thick against the rub of his palm, when the fantasies suddenly...warp.

The hand on his hip suddenly sports callouses from numerous cooking instruments, the fingers in his hair meticulously steady from years of surgery. The lips he can feel at the nape of his neck are generous, tilted in a familiar smirk.

It doesn’t stop him. If anything, the pictures his mind provides start a fire of determination in his gut that only serves to quicken his pace. His hips jump to meet his hand, fucking into the tunnel of his grip with reckless abandon.

As his hand drifts from his chest and over to the phone he’d carelessly thrown onto the bed when he’d started undressing.

As he presses down on the now familiar contact, Will knows this call isn’t the product of spur-of-the-moment desires. He still wants revenge on Hannibal, still wants to feel the spray of blood when he slits the jugular and bleeds his personal beast of burden dry. His body shudders at the thought, cock spurting wetness from its tip, making the glide easier, just as he presses the phone to his ear and waits for the click of an answer.

Hannibal will answer. He’s too intrigued, too curious not to. He’s a boy playing with a box of matches, fully aware of the danger in fire, and just arrogant enough to think he can toss them away before they scorch his fingertips.

“Will. I must say, this is quite the surprise.”

“I was thinking of you.” He does nothing to disguise the breathy note of his voice, the raspy twinge of a throat gone raw with moans.

There’s a split second of quiet, of contemplation, and Will tips the scales by twisting his hand on the upstroke, ripping a truly lascivious sound from his own chest.

“And what were you thinking of?” Hannibal is intrigued and hiding it badly, voice dipping just a touch lower, something Will rewards with another soft sound of pleasure.

Hannibal’s like a newly stray dog; untrusting of others and still desperate for any scrap of food thrown his way.

Will knows exactly how to win over those particular pups.

“Killing you.” He gasps, and it’s not wholly faked, the catch and drag of a callous against his slit making his hips flex. “The thought of you dying in my arms, the hot rush of your blood on me.”

“My death is enough to bring you sexual pleasure? The thought is quite flattering, Will.”

“Oh, not just your death,  _Dr. Lecter_.” The title trips off his tongue, a deliberate denial--because Will knows Hannibal craves the sound of his name in Will’s mouth like he craves his next pound of flesh. “You dead isn’t my reckoning. You dead by _my_ hands, your blood staining my skin, down the back of my throat--”

He cuts himself off with a moan, images spiraling through his mind with rabid ferocity, each new fantasy ripping the last to shreds. The depravity of the situation isn’t lost on him, but damn if it isn’t making him rock into every movement of his arm, friction growing almost unbearable with the frantic rhythm.

“Would you do this then?” Hannibal’s voice is wrecked and Will imagines he’s touching himself too, stroking his cock--no doubt as regal and defined as the rest of his carefully presented image--to the sounds of his own imagined demise. “Would you use my blood to open yourself, use it to drag an orgasm from yourself?”

“I’d fuck you.” Will spits into his hand, kicking the blankets to the end of the bed in a fury, and he can’t tell if Hannibal’s shocked noise is because of his words or the rude sound of him gathering saliva in his mouth. “Fuck you open while you gasped for air, while you begged for me to stop.”

“I don’t beg.” But he sounds so close to it, heavy pants, surprised rough sounds breaking his words like he’s already on the edge.

“You’d _beg_ ,” Will snarls, fucking into his fist like it’s the tight clench of Hannibal’s hole, sweat making the phone slide against his ear. “You’d beg me to stop, to leave you, to _help_ you.”

“Help me, Will.”

The gasped words make him nearly black out, Hannibal stretching across the line to invade his mind, the barest sight of antlers in his peripheral before Will slams his eyes closed on the hallucination. He can see Hannibal, reclined on his opulent bed, the phone lying close on the pillow, free of his hands.

And _oh_ , his hands.

Will’s vision twists when a familiar grunt echoes through their shared mindspace, one of Hannibal’s careful hands slipping between his legs to slide one careful finger into the place Will wants to own. The other works his cock, as rough and frantic as Will is with his own, and Will imagines being there with him, watching in person as Hannibal sheds his person suit and becomes need and want and primordial lust.

For him.

All for him.

“You want it. Want me to wrap hands around your throat as I fuck you open, rip away every bit of falsehood. Bring the god to his knees on the altar of his own mind.”

“ _Will_.” Hannibal is nearly whining, desperate just like he is, and he can’t be any further from release than Will, barely standing on solid ground, teetering on a ledge over a thousand foot freefall.

He sucks in a breath when the tremors start, teeth clamping down hard enough to ache, grinding against each other like his palm grinds against the slick wetness of his cock head. He can nearly feel it, the silken vise of Hannibal’s ass clenching around him, the feeling of his throat jumping and tensing under his hands as he watches Hannibal race death and ecstasy against one another.

“I’ll come inside you. Mark you, even in oblivion.” He whispers darkly, hearing the explosive shout as Hannibal finds that apex they’re both racing towards.

The sounds of his pleasure make Will shake, sweat soaking the bed beneath him, balls drawing up tight in preparation. He can’t hold on much longer, not when he can imagine lording over the man who imprisoned him, the man who committed such sins against him that not even God himself could absolve him of his crimes.

But Hannibal doesn’t fear God, doesn’t look to God for forgiveness.

He looks to Will.

“Let me worship you,” Hannibal murmurs, voice raw and hoarse, the antlers creeping ever closer to where Will writhes. “Let me prostrate myself on your altar, Will. Allow me to show you the adoration you truly deserve.”

It’s all Hannibal wants. He can feel the need, the burning desire to be with someone, to shake away the loneliness that has turned man to monster. It’s what drove Hannibal to manipulate him, to fuck with his mind and body, to turn the world into his plaything for no greater a desire than a child’s curiosity.

Will is not a god to be worshipped.

Will is a hellhound come to rip down the doors of a palace and ravage what precious things reside within.

Will is revenge, bloodstained teeth and white knuckled ferocity.

It doesn’t sound like his voice when it hits open air, when it crosses the line. It’s too abhorrent, word bitten too sharply, like Will’s teeth caught it at the last second. Caught the word like he so desperately imagines himself catching a bite of Hannibal’s flesh. Marking him in the same way he has marked Will.

“No.”

He doesn’t get the satisfaction of imagining Hannibal’s reaction, or hearing it. The phone breaks apart when he throws it at the wall, shattering over the bed just as the image of his and Hannibal’s shared space does. What he does hear, as he tips himself over the edge to the thought of marking Hannibal inside and out, so deeply he’ll never wash himself clean, is the screech of something inhuman.

Something with clawed fingertips, something with teeth stained too often to be anything other than red. Something with dark skin and a blacker heart, a creature born of darkness and ice.

It is _furious_ , Hannibal’s rage and glacial mania swirling and combining with his own orgasm until Will feels light-headed from all of it.

Hannibal is frenzied with madness at being denied.

And Will….

Will is victorious.

**Author's Note:**

> Will essentially thinks dirty talk and murder fantasies are the same thing. So his version of "yeah, baby, feels so good, gonna fuck you so hard" is "LET ME TELL YOU EXACTLY HOW I SHALL END YOUR WRETCHED LIFE". Obviously this is gonna get graphic, so if this is not your jam, there are a thousand other fluffy Hannigram fics just waiting to give you exactly what you need :D
> 
> I'm momomomma2 over on tumblr is anyone wants to come jam with me and support my new cannibal obsession <3


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